I REMEMBER sitting and looking at the route for the Edinburgh Half Marathon, and being slightly disappointed that it avoided the city centre and the tourist trail.
A warm Saturday afternoon in the Scottish capital gave me the answer – while Princes Street and the Royal Mile may be flat, everywhere else hills lead away from the city centre.
Edinburgh had been planned as a nice weekend away. But sadly Anna had been so poorly that she decided not to travel. Instead I found myself alone, with time to kill, on a belting hot Saturday afternoon.
I’d love to say I did the only obvious thing and soaked up some culture by taking in Edinburgh Castle. I didn’t, I found a bus headed for Tynecastle and soaked up the atmosphere of Hearts versus Motherwell.
Already feeling weary from the heat, I then headed for my hotel – I’d been offered a complimentary stay at Premier Inn’s Edinburgh East hotel which I am happy to report gave me a comfortable night pre-race.
Premier Inn’s press team had clearly thought about it – or struck lucky – as the hotel was just a short walk from the race’s start, Meadowbank Stadium, so by 8am I was there, a whole hour ahead of the race start at 9am.
There was a terrific atmosphere from early on, helped by the glorious weather which had arrived on the east coast of Scotland – weather which would later make things difficult.
And the presence in the field of 50 Spaniards made you wonder, ‘did they know it was going to be so warm?’ Mind you, the tannoy also announced the presence of a small group of runners who’d travelled from Norway.
The route headed north and then quickly east, arriving before the three-mile marker on the Portobello Promenade, hazy views over the sea for those who cared to take it in.
The heat of the day was already picking up a pace, and many of the runners faced disappointment at the first water station – supplies had run out, clearly something had gone wrong with the numbers. On such a hot day, it was an early blow.
Some runners around me even resorted to picking up other people’s discarded bottles and finishing their water, worried that it was along way to the seven-mile ‘Lucozade’ stop.
From Portobello the race headed further east, and just after the six-mile mark we left the sea behind, heading into Musselburgh. Tantalisingly close to the finish line – Musselburgh Race Course – the race still had six miles to go, and it was a tough six miles.
By now it was getting hot. Thankfully there’d been no more problems with the water stations, but it was still tough going. I’ve taken to carrying a bag of sugary sweets in the pocket, and about the seven-mile mark I began to dip in for a sugar-boost.
And about eight miles in I really began to feel the pace. Perhaps it was because it was just two weeks since I’d run the Liverpool Half Marathon. Perhaps it was the heat. Perhaps it was the slight cold I’d just recovered from.
Talking to a race veteran a few weeks ago, he told me the French had a word for it, those days when – for seemingly no reason – it’s just not there, the tank feels like its empty. It was like a half marathon version of hitting ‘The Wall’.
I had two options. Stop, which for me wasn’t an option, or run through it. I turned up the volume on my Ipod and got on with it, head down.
This was the most frustrating part of the course as it was simply running down one side of a road for three miles, knowing that at the end you’ll simply turn round and run down the other side. As one runner remarked to me on the shuttle us afterwards, ‘I was just desperate for that turning, but it just felt like it was never going to come’.
But it did come, and by the time it did I’d run through the ‘wall’. I was back in a stride, and enjoying the race again, especially the crowds lining the streets – and a few legendary locals who’d turned on their sprinklers to help cool the runners down.
Musselburgh Race Course duly arrived, and as we veered in I realised I was next to the three furlong marker. The finish line was in sight, although it took me slightly longer to cover those three furlongs than your average racehorse probably does.
And then controversy. A half marathon is 13.1 miles. This race, it seems, was 13.4 miles. That now notorious straight where everyone was desperate for the turning had been ‘inexplicably’ extended.
My race time of 2.06.40, like all race times, is to be amended, if indeed the course is proven to be too long. I might have a personal best yet...
Four down, eight races to go now in my bid to run 12 half marathons in 10 months in support of Macmillan Cancer Support. Next up is Sheffield on Sunday, May 8.
Remember, you can sponsor me at www.justgiving.com/marklingard